Facing His Demons
by DamonsDemon
Summary: She's watched him ever since he arrived in Killiney but when they finally meet everything could change. Will Cook be how he was in her head or will everything fall apart. Can Annabelle help Cook finally face his demons?
1. Meeting

_I watch him. His routine is the same everyday. Shower, breakfast at the café; two eggs, toast buttered on both sides and a coffee with nothing in it, a walk, then the pub until he's so drunk he can barely walk home. He's been like that for months now. Everyday I stand outside the pub thinking the next drink will be his last that he'll finally have drank himself to death, but it never is. I can't help but wonder what kind of demon's he's trying to run from. I wish I could tell him that eventually they catch up with you…that you can't outrun the past._

Rain begins to fall from a grey sky. The wind blowing drops of it underneath my jumper, causing a shiver to run up and down my spine. The cold here is biting, settling in your bones; holding on to you like the grip of an ex-lover after a bad breakup. The window begins to fog up but I see him, his faded red sweater standing out against the drab interior of the pub. I've thought about going in but something stops me every time. Its like I know that stepping inside would change everything. I couldn't go back from it. I don't quite know if I'm ready for that.

"What're you going with yourself Anna?" I whisper to myself before heading down a side street. The road is still, the water glimmering like diamonds…little ponds of hope, as I like to call them. For just a second nothing is more pure than that little pool of water on the ground.

The ocean is choppy with chunks of ice floating around on the service. I pull out a fag and place it between my lips, a dark red lipstick stain instantly appearing. Nothing stays crisp and new for too long in this world.

"You've been following me," a male voice behind me causes me to jump, my lighter falling into the water below me.

"What?" I question keeping my eyes down, my back to the stranger. It can't be him. I've been so careful.

"I…I didn't mean for you to drop your lighter…here," a lighter is held over my shoulder. The hand holding it has _'cook_ ' tattooed across the skin. "I just wanted to know why you've been watching me."

"I don't actually know why."

"You should stop, ya know. It's weird. I don't like it."

"I didn't ask if you liked it. Isn't that how stalking works? The person being stalked doesn't really get a choice do they?"

I hear a grunt, like a laugh being repressed and then his body slumps down next to me. My gut instinct is to get up and run…to not look back. Yet, I stay seated my limbs heavy, curiosity pumping through my veins. Maybe this is that sign I'd been asking for for so many years.

"You could've just come up and said hey."

"I don't think you would've liked that too much," I answer back, handing over the lighter. The rain has turned to a steady snow. Cook isn't wearing a jacket and I can see that he's shivering. "You should go back to the pub."

"Don't feel like it."

"What do you feel like?"

There is a few moments of silence. I look over at Cook, his eyes look cloudy, his lips pulled down into a frown. This is a usual facial expression.

"Who are you anyway?"

"Annabelle, my friends call me Anna," I answer back voice barely above a whisper. I'm actually surprised he was able to hear me at all.

"Well, Annabelle, I'm Cook but I'm sure you already knew that. How about we get out of this weather?"

I nod as Cook offers me his hand. I am pulled up and drug down the street. He doesn't talk to me anymore. Instead he gets a far off look in his blue eyes. He mutters to himself but I don't catch any of it. This whole thing is surreal. I've watched this man for the past six months. Never in my wildest dreams did I actually think we'd meet, let alone him taking me back to his place.

"Cook," I mumble suddenly extremely aware of the situation I'm putting myself in. I really don't know much about this man. What've I gotten myself in to? This could be dangerous. What if….

Cook stops, causing me to run in to his chest. He steadies me by placing his hands on my shoulders, "What is it Annabelle?"

"We…we aren't like gonna fuck are we?" I avoid his gaze, my eyes glued to the brick underneath my feet. I can feel his eyes burning holes in my skull. I feel kind of dizzy and few a few seconds I think I might puke.

"Come on," Cook answers back before taking my hand and continuing down the street. "We're almost there."

We walk up two more streets in silence. Cook occasionally glances over at me as if he's trying to figure out what he's gotten himself in to. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, trying to memorize the other houses, where the corner stores are…the police station. My free hand is balled in to a tight fist, my knuckles white, fingernails digging into my palm.

"You're so stupid Anna," I mumble to myself as we stop in front of a black front door. Cook fiddles with the key and lock for a minute before it springs open revealing a dark hallway.

"What was that?" he questions as lights spring on and a kettle is set on a rusty looking cooktop.

"Nothing, nice place."

He nods, "Is that how you really feel?"

"No, it's actually kind of a shit hole."

Cook laughs, flashing me a smile. I've only seen a few of those in the past months. My cheeks burn at the thought of being the reason for one. He keeps his distance and I begin to defrost, my nerves calming and allowing my heart to return to a semi-normal pace. I chew my thumbnail, hoping I don't look too much like a dear in the headlights. I nearly fall out of my chair when he places a cup of a muddy looking liquid down in front of me.

"You're kinda jumpy, huh?"

"What?"

"You look like you're terrified. Whatever it is you're worried I'm gonna do I won't," Cook answers sitting down in the seat across from me. "I just wanna talk. You know I've known you've been watching me for like weeks now."

"Why didn't you stop me before now?"

Cook shrugs, "Guess I thought you'd say something."

"I don't really talk to the people I observe."

"You follow around more than just me?"

"Well, not anymore…."

I don't really know what else to say. I guess I've always watched people. It's easier than trying to get close to them…that only gets you hurt. If I stay away I can be apart of their lives without anyone having to face any consequences. If I never talk to them they can be whatever I want them to be. People make relationships complicated.

A sinking feeling settles in my chest. Cook and I can't be friends. I was _stalking_ him for Christ sake. He's going to tell me to stop and then kick me out into the cold. I chew my lip, wishing I had just staid home tonight…just let him go to the pub and ignore him like I had planned to. If this was my sign it's fucked. What am I gonna do without Cook? He's become the focus of my life. In my reality he's kind and gentle and wants to help me as much as I want to help him. We talk and lie in bed and watch the rain and eat gumdrops and drink tea. I don't actually know what real life Cook is like.

"Annabelle?" Cook says snapping his fingers in front of my face. I jump backwards hitting my head on the chair railing. "Shit sorry."

"Doesn't hurt. What were you asking?"

"You just tuned out. It was kinda scary. I told you to tell me about yourself."

"Sorry, it happens a lot. I can't really control it. Err…I grew up here; about three miles east of here actually. Dad's got a graphic thing going on and mum is a schizo. I graduated last May but didn't really go anywhere. I had a thing in London for a while I guess but it didn't really work out. So now I'm here. What's your story?"

"That wasn't much of a life story Annabelle. And ya know…I just wanted a change in scenery."

"That's a shitty excuse for an answer," I reply taking a small sip of the tea Cook made. It isn't half bad. It's sweet, like he added honey or something.

"You're kinda cheeky aren't you?"

"Problem Cook?"

"Naw. You have somewhere to go tonight?"

"Do you always let strange girls stay the night at your place?"

Cook cracks another smile, "No…only the one's who've been stalking me."

I laugh; hold my cup between my hands letting the warmth seep between my fingers. Maybe in my head Cook and real life Cook are the same. Maybe he will be my friend and maybe we can help each other. Maybe the sign wasn't as fucked as I thought it was.

"I don't have anywhere to go."

"Then it's settled. You'll stay and watch telly and we'll talk more," Cook answers before moving in to another room.

I follow slowly behind, dragging my hand down the yellow stained wall of the hallway. It looks like no one has done anything with the place in ages. Cook is perched on the back of a lumpy looking sofa. The cushions are covered with a flowery pattern, a bit of the stuffing creeping out of holes that no one bothered to patch. The only thing that looks even remotely new is the television. It is set on top of a stack of books.

"Cook, how long have lived here?"

"I dunno," he shrugs flipping through channels until he finds the cartoons.

"Are planning on staying?"

"For now."

I let out a sigh, "Cook you should get some real furniture."

"Eventually. I don't really know what to get. Maybe you can pick it out?"

"For real? You don't even know me."

"Look Annabelle," Cook turns to face me, "something I've learned is that you need to take opportunities. I was presented with an opportunity to meet a pretty girl. Is she a little fucked in the head…maybe, but for the time being she seems safe enough."

I scrunch up my nose not entirely sure I get what he's saying.

"It means you can be my friend Annabelle."

"Oh."

Cook sighs sliding off the back of the sofa and onto the cushion next to me, a little more stuffing flies out, landing on the dusty floor. Arms surround me and I'm pulled onto Cook's lap. I try and make myself less ridged but I can't help it. My body begins to shut down and the edges of the room become fuzzy.

"Hey, relax," fingers begin to pull through my hair, getting caught on a few tangles. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just kinda miss…this."


	2. Outburst

Fingers slide through his hair, combing it into a sort of mohawk. He groans and rolls over, revealing a cross tattoo that takes up most of his side. During the night he'd had some soft of fit and thrown all the cover off. I have them wrapped around my body trying to keep warm. The heater in the house is not turned on or it's busted I don't really know.

My phone buzzes on the table next to the bed, the screen flashing my dad's name. This is the fifth time he's called this morning. I hit the red ignore button before turning the thing off completely. I'll go home when I'm ready. I want at least a few more hours of peace. It's quiet at Cook's place. No one is yelling or crying or vomiting. Here there is only the creaks of the house slowly falling in to the earth and soft music that comes from the other side of the wall. This place actually feels like a home.

"Good morning Annabelle," Cook whispers pulling me from my thoughts. "I see you stole the blankets."

"You threw them off last night. Don't you remember? You had some kind of fit…started screaming…something about Ems. I tried to wake you up but you wouldn't."

Cook groans, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs before pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Shit."

"Cook, you've got a situation," I nod towards his boxers. His dick is noticeably hard. I can't help but giggle a little.

"Don't mind him," Cook answers back before pulling some of the blanket over his lower half. "I didn't keep you up did I?"

"No. You just had the one fit then you went back to sleep. Who is Ems?"

"No one. It's not really important. What would you like to do today?"

I lean back against the headboard, Cook's head coming to rest on my shoulder. I go back to playing with his hair, enjoying the feeling of his warm breath on my skin. I don't remember the last time I was this close to someone who wasn't a family member. It's frightening yet comfortable at the same time. I've decided Cook isn't going to hurt me but I'm still worried. Things don't stay good for long. Everything has a way of getting fucked up eventually.

"You can't avoid it forever Cook. We can talk," I respond.

"It's nothing. Let's get breakfast and then find some proper furniture. Sound good?"

Before I can respond Cook is out of bed. He pulls on a pair of jeans before lighting a fag and offering me one. I take it and inhale deeply as I follow him to the kitchen. I sit and watch as he prepares eggs and bacon. The smells fill the kitchen quickly making me feel a little queasy. I never liked the smell of breakfast.

"You alright Annabelle?"

I shrug, "You know you can call me Anna. That's what everyone else calls me."

Cook grins before putting a plate of food down in front of me, "I'm not everyone else babes."

"Yeah."

Cook eats slowly, scrolling through his phone occasionally making a phone call none lasting more than a few minutes each. I zone out, pushing around the food on my plate. The thought of eating it makes my stomach churn. This was a mistake. I should have gone home last night. I should leave right now before this goes any further. How long is Cook actually going to want to spend time with me? How long until he decides I'm not fit to be anyone's friend?

"What happened to your arm?" Cook questions, his fingers playing over a row of cuts and scars that run up and down my forearm. His eyes flick from me to them and back. I pull my arm away, quickly hiding it behind my back.

"I fell on some wire while I was on a walk."

Cook nods, glancing down at my plate, "You not hungry?"

"I'm not feeling so great this morning. Sorry I made you cook extra."

"No problem. Do you wanna stay home instead? We could watch telly or we could talk. I'll even read to you if you want to me to. Do you need to go to your mum?"

"No Cook, I don't need my mum," I answer back suddenly overcome with frustration. "Do you always try this hard? I mean you just look like the kind of guy who doesn't care about people that much. I've never once seen you actually talk to someone. You don't even hold doors for people. You don't have to pretend for me. If you want to be a prick you can be. I won't get offended."

"Go get dressed Annabelle. I'll clean this shit up."

"Cook…" I mumble but he doesn't look at me. "I didn't mean to…."

"I know you think you know me Annabelle but you don't!" Cook yells, slamming his fist down on the counter. "You might have been watching me for who knows how long but you don't know a fucking thing about me! You can't just come in here and assume. So let me get one thing straight, okay? We are friends now. You stay here when you don't wanna go home and we do stuff together. You don't ask questions. I don't ask questions. We just…it's just like last night."

I nod. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know."

I walk slowly back to the bedroom, blinking back tears. The Cook of my head never yells. This was a mistake. I get dressed in a daze. The room spins. I miss the leg of my jeans and tumble to the ground. For a second I lay there. How easy it'd be, to just lie here and never move again. Everything would slowly disappear, there would be no my world and the real world. I couldn't get hurt…I couldn't hurt anyone.

"Annabelle I'm gonna come in okay?" Cook says on the other side of the door just seconds before it is pushed open.

I scramble to my feet trying to get my pants and shirt on before he comes in. I get my head stuck in an armhole and begin to fall again. Strong arms steady me. My shirt is lifted and gently pulled back down. Cook threads my head and arms through their proper holes. I give him a weak smile. I must've looked like an idiot. Who can't even put on their own shirt?

"You okay now?" Cook questions as he pulls on striped polo and a black jacket. "Here."

A grey jumper is thrown at me, landing in a heap on the floor. I pick it up and pull it on over my shirt. The yellow one I had on yesterday is in the corner, still dripping wet from my walk through the rain and snow. "Thank you."

Cook turns around, his eyes trailing up and down my body. His jumper is much too big and hangs off my shoulders, the arms handing well below my hands. I roll the sleeves and tie up the sweater so that one side of my black skirt can be seen. Cooks gaze makes me slightly uncomfortable and I try to avoid it as much as I can. I'm not used to people looking at me.

"You look good. Let's go," Cook finally says before grabbing my hand and leading me towards the front door.

"Cook, I'm gonna have to go get my clothes eventually," I mumble as he drives down the street towards the shops. His eyes stay glued to the road. His fingers curled so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles turn white. He doesn't go a tick over or under the speed limit. I've never seen anybody drive like this. A question sits on the tip of my tongue but I swallow it down remembering Cook's outburst from this morning. I begin to pick off the polish from my nails.

"You can pick out whatever you want while we're out."

"I've only got about 10 quid with me. I have clothes at my house Cook. I can walk there from your place."

"We aren't using your money today."

"Cook."

"Annabelle," Cook answers cracking a smile as we park. "Look, I've got money. I can pay. It isn't that big of a deal. Let's just go in and give it a look, okay? If you don't see _anything_ that you like you can go home after today and get whatever you want from your house."

I let out a sigh of defeat. I don't really think there is much point in arguing with Cook. "Why do you want to spend your money on me?"

"No questions Annabelle. Let's go."

With that he gets out of the car. For a second it looks like he might come around and open my door but he doesn't instead he heads towards the store leaving me to catch up with him.


	3. Confession

The store is almost completely dark, low lights illuminate the clothes that are surrounding the walls. Through the middle of the floor are stalls closed off with curtains; changing rooms. Loud music flows through the tiny space. I've never been in a store like this and it's actually quite overwhelming. The prices here are ridiculous, much more than I'd ever ask anyone to spend on me, especially someone who I've just met. I can't bring myself to believe that Cook actually shops here on a normal basis.

"Find anything you like?" Cook questions as he steps out of one of the changing rooms. He's got on a pair of charcoal jeans and a black shirt with a red jacket on over the top. I have to applaud whoever taught him to dress. He does look quite smashing.

"Everything's so expensive," I comment as I continue to look through the racks. "I can't imagine ever spending this much on clothing."

"Do you like this?" Cook responds, ignoring my previous concern. He holds out a red and black plaid dress. It's short with long sleeves and some tulle around the bottom. It's the same one I picked up when we first walked in. The black combat boots I'm wearing would work perfect with it. Cook had been paying attention.

"It's okay," I answer back, hoping my lust for the dress would not show in my eyes.

"It's settled then. Just gotta change and then we'll be on our way."

Letting out a defeated sigh I watch as Cook disappears back inside the dressing room. I plop down in one of the benches at the end of the changing rooms and turn on my phone. There are two new missed calls from my dad and a slew of texts. I scroll through my contacts until I get to her name. The phone rings four times before switching me over to voicemail.

"This is Caroline…you know what to do." _Beep._

For a few seconds I don't stay anything. This can't actually be real. "I miss you. Please come back. Everything's all fucked now. We need you."

"Who are you talking to?" Cook questions coming up behind me. I jump, my phone falling to the floor.

"No one," I respond quickly before gathering up my phone. The crack in the corner has crept forward a little. "Come one let's just go."

I stand and head towards the counter. Cook puts everything down, pulling out money to pay for everything. The clerk checks it a couple times to make sure it's all there and everything is real. I guess we don't look like people who shop in here. She's actually being quite rude.

"I'm going for a fag," I mumble before moving towards the door.

I take in deep breaths of fresh air as I pull out my cigarettes and a lighter. Something doesn't feel right. He's being too nice. This is how these kind of things start. Sliding down the wall I let the fire lick the end of my cigarette. I inhale trying to get my thoughts to stop racing. Cook doesn't want to hurt me. The light begins to dim and I can feel my body going ridged. I grasp at the real world, trying to hold on to this invisible cliff that I've created. My fingers are slippery. I'm going to fall. I start to shake.

"Annabelle…Annabelle," I feel hands on the side of my face but everything's weird. It's like they're reaching at me from a thousand miles away. I struggle to go towards them. "Hey, it's Cook. Calm down. You're okay."

When things finally begin to focus I'm pulled against Cook's chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me. He's petting my hair, gently rocking me back and forth. I can feel tears clinging to my cheeks. I try and wipe them away but my hands won't reach my face.

"I'm okay now," I say softly, hand curling around Cook's arms. He's warm and I feel safe here; like I won't ever have to worry about slipping away ever again.

Blue eyes meet mine. They're searching for any hint of a lie. "You scared the shit out of me Annabelle. What the fuck happened?"

I'm lifted off the ground and carried towards the car. "I can walk."

"Of course you can, you've got legs. I'm just not so sure they're gonna work right now," Cook responds, his eyes flicking down to my face. "Annabelle you've gotta tell me what happened back there."

"I thought we said no questions," I respond, stiffening my jaw. This isn't gonna turn in to some kind of double standard thing. If I can't ask Cook any questions he doesn't get to ask me any. Cook sighs putting me down by the car door. I pull it open and climb inside, pulling my knees up to my chin. This is all wrong. I'm not supposed to be slipping away. I'm not supposed to be weak anymore. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"I just wanna make sure you're okay babes. Do you need anything?"

"Coffee. Cook…why are you being so nice to me?"

"You remind me of someone."

"Did you love her?"

"More than anything else."

"What happened?"

Cook's gaze shifts from the road over towards me for a split second. I'm worried he's gonna get upset again but for now I have him talking. I don't want that to stop.

"She didn't love me back."

I reach across the car and place my hand on Cook's knee. He takes a hand off the steering wheel and places it over mine. "It's okay though. Nothing good ever stays with me. I've just gotten used to it."

"Cook," a few tears run down my face.

"I can't lose anything else Annabelle."

"I'm not going anywhere Cook."

"Boo," I giggle, jumping on to Cook's back and covering his eyes with my hands. I lay my lips on his cheek for a second before pulling away. There is a light pink lipstick mark.

Cook slides his arms under my butt, continuing to walk through the isles of the furniture store. He's been acting very serious since the car ride and all I want to do is lighten the mood. I don't want him to feel like his confession is any kind of burden. If he feels that way I may never get another one.

"What're you doing Annabelle?"

"I'm just having a bit of fun," I respond as I'm placed back down on the carpeted floor. "I scared the shit out of a little boy and his mum. I hid under the bed and then decided to come and find you about the time they turned the corner."

Cook maintains a blank expression his eyes fixed on a black sofa in front of us. "What do you think of this one?"

"Do they have it in red?"

"Red?"

"Red is fun Cook. Can't you have a bit of fun? Forget about all the shit that's happened in you life for a millisecond and just live. We waste so much time waiting for life to start…for things to get better that we forget we are actually living right here and right now."

"Says the girl who freaks out and can't even stay in the present," Cook retorts.

My smile shatters like a mirror hit by a hammer. I feel like I've been stabbed in the heart. "Get whatever you want. I'll wait for you by the car."

With that I run from the store, shoving past a sales associate and pushing the doors open with a violent thrust. It's started snowing again and the air stings as tears begin to slide down my face. I beat on the brick façade of the building until my knuckles become bloody. "Fuck!"

"Annabelle…" a voice behind me says temporarily pulling me out of my rage.

"Fuck you Cook," I respond back turning to slap him in the face. He catches my hand in his but allows my other to beat his chest, getting blood on his shirt. "Fuck you."

"Let's just go."

The ride home is quite. Cook doesn't try and fix things. I try my best to get my knuckles to stop bleeding. They throb and my hands are starting to shake from the pain.

"Cook, I'm going home."

He doesn't answer.

 **Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who is reading and leaving reviews. Reviews give me the drive to keep writing my stories plus I always love to know what you guys think. :)**


	4. Do Not Fuck It Up

My key slides in to the lock easily, the door swinging open, warm air inviting me into the hallway. All the lights in the house are on and the entryway is crowded with snowshoes and jackets hung up on hooks. The puppy my dad got for my mum circles my feet begging for me to pet it. As I bend over to rub behind his ears my father crosses the catwalk on the upper floor, stopping to look down at me. His eyebrows scrunch together, the vein in his neck popping out ever so slightly. He looks like he's been holding his breath since breakfast two weeks ago.

"And just were do you think you've been?" he questions, coming down the stairs. He almost slips on the marble due to his sock clad feet. "Not coming home is not an option, young lady."

"Dad I'm 23. I don't think I need to let you know where I am _all_ the time," I respond as Charles, our butler, takes me coat and hangs it on one of the many hooks in the hall.

"Annabelle, your mother needs you. After what happened with Caroline…well she just worries so much. Besides, while you're still living here you must follow our rules."

I move to the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove for tea. "I've asked for a flat. I'd be able to do more work if I didn't have to listen to her screaming all the time. It isn't good for my art."

"We agreed, when you get a _real_ job you can get a _real_ place to live."

I pour hot water into my mug, letting the tea leaves begin to seep, "It is a real job. I make real money from it."

My dad says more but I don't stay around to listen. Instead I head towards the back of the house towards my bedroom. The bed is made but besides that nothing has moved. My big canvas is still sitting in the corner, half a city scene painted on it. I plug my phone into the in-ceiling speakers and blast Die Slow by Health. Somewhere in the house my dad yells for me to turn it down but I ignore him.

Lighting a cigarette I begin to work on my canvas. The paint moves across the material, bringing color to what once was black and white. I try not to think of Cook. Every time his face flashes across my vision anger and sadness bubble up inside. I don't want those emotions in the painting…I don't want those emotions at all. He shouldn't have a right to make me feel that way.

The Cook of my imagination crawls out of the walls, filling my room with his presence. His lips graze my neck, fingers running up and down my arms. I breathe him in. He sits and watches me paint until its dark outside. This Cook never says too much. He doesn't upset me or tell me I'm fucked up.

"This can't keep going on Anna," I mumble to myself as I fall in to bed. I know that holding on to this pretend version of Cook is going to cause me nothing but trouble. I can't base my feelings for real life Cook off of this, and I definitely can't set my standards based on this.

I swallow my pills and fall into an uneasy sleep.

I haven't seen Cook in almost a month. Somehow he found out my phone number but I refuse to take any of this calls. He isn't good for me and I'm not someone he should want to spend his time with. I'll just fuck him up.

I wake up every morning foggy from the drugs. I can't paint until the fog wears off. Instead I spend time with mum. She never gets out of bed. Instead Charles brings her food and books that he picks up from the store in town. Mostly she just sleeps. The lumps in her arms and legs have grown. The doctors don't come by anymore. They say she's a lost cause. They've given her three more months. Most times I'm not even sure she'll last till the end of the week. Ever since Caroline she's lost the will the live. It's like she doesn't care about anyone else in the family.

I sit in bed a lot. I guess I think if I stare at the wall enough something about it will change. Maybe if I stay in bed long enough I can take whatever mum has and give it to myself. Maybe if I stay in bed and think about Caroline enough she'll come back…maybe whoever took her will change their minds and take me instead.

The scale says I've lost five more pounds. I keep drinking tea. I keep giving my breakfast to the puppy. I keep working through lunch and dinner. I keep flushing my afternoon pill down the loo.

I told the imaginary Cook to go away.

"Miss Annabelle, there's a Mr. James Cook here to see you," Charles says through the door. It's the first week of February.

I fall off my stool. "Tell him to go away."

"He's insisting on seeing you…says its an emergency."

"Tell him I don't care."

"Annabelle," I hear a familiar voice from the other side of the door. "Annabelle…please? I'm sorry."

I pull my door open just wide enough for me to look at him. He's got on a red jacket; the knee of his jeans is torn out. He gives me a weak smile. His hands are shoved deep in his pants pockets and he rocks back and forth on his heels; a nervous habit.

"What do you want Cook?"

"Can I please come in?"

"I don't have any clothes on."

"It's four in the afternoon."

I can't help but smile a little, "I'm still naked."

Cook sighs, "You might as well let me in. I'm not leaving till we talk."

"Fine," I pull the door open and let him in. Cook sits down on the bed while I pull a dress over my head.

"I thought you said your dad had a graphic thing. This isn't the house of someone who does graphics. Also you definitely cannot walk from my place to your house."

"So I lied a little. How did you find out where I live?"

"It isn't hard. I just asked around. A house like this is hard to miss. Your dad is a pretty important guy Annabelle. That's not what I came here to talk about though. I miss you."

I sit down on the wooden floor, my head resting on my knees, eyes fixed on Cook. I don't really know what to say back to him. Of course I've missed him as well but I don't want him to know that. I don't even know if I want myself to know that. Feelings don't work very well for me.

"Will you come back to my place? Just for the night. If you don't want to talk to me ever again after that I'll accept it."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"I've lost too many people. I don't want to lose another one because I was a prick."

"You have to promise to talk to me Cook and not be afraid to share stuff. I'm not going to run away just because you don't have a good past."

Cook nods, picking at a string coming off of his shirt. He looks nervous but I can't really say I blame him. I've not given him any kind of hint that I'm happy he's here.

I have half a mind to throw him out and tell him to never come visit again but I can't get the words past my throat. An invisible barrier is holding them down, forcing me to reconsider. My heart wants me to give him another chance. My heart wants me to learn to love and trust again. My brain is screaming for me to push him away.

"One night James Cook. Do not fuck it up."


	5. Red Sofa

Cook's apartment is the same. It's dusty and dark and the floor in the hallway still creaks in the same spots. I sit in the same seat I did on the very first day we met. I pull my knees up to my chest. Take out boxes are scattered across the table and counters, dirty dishes sit piled high in the sink. It's like Cook stopped living while I was away…stopped caring.

"Do you wanna have dinner in the living room? It's kind of the only room that's clean right now," Cook says, holding a plate of food out for me.

I nod, getting up and following him down the hall.

Sitting up against the wall is the red couch we fought over. My plate tips out of my hand and falls to the floor with a thud. Food splatters across my legs but I hardly notice. He listened. The red sticks out in the room, furnished with a black entertainment center, coffee and end tables, and a big white rug. My mind flashes back to that day in the furniture store.

"Annabelle? Hey, you wanna come back to Earth?"

I'm on the floor; I must've fallen without realizing it. Cook is sitting over me, my head resting in his lap. His fingers pull through my hair. Cook's eyes are a mask of concern. "Are you with me."

I sit up slowly, scooting closer to Cook. His arms envelope me as I wrap mine around his neck, "You got the red one."

"Yeah, after our fight and after you wouldn't take my calls I went back and got it. It reminded me of you."

"Sorry I dropped my food."

"Hey, don't worry about it babes. Do you want to go sit down? I'll put in a film and go make you some more."

"Don't bother. I'm not really that hungry."

Cook frowns a little before helping me stand up and leading me towards the couch. I feel like I'm floating. My body is present but my mind and soul are thousands of miles away. The material of the couch is cold against my bare legs. I curl up in a ball with my back pushed up against the arm. Cook fumbles with the telly remote for a little. "You really should eat Annabelle."

I close my eyes for a second trying to get my spiritual self to reconnect with my physical self. The room feels like it has a pulse. I'm sure it's just my own heartbeat ringing in my ears. There is an elephant sitting on my chest. I shoot up, like a bullet shot from a gun. The question spills from my lips before I even have a chance to think about it.

"Who was she…the girl that I reminded you of?"

Cook signs abandoning the remote. He places his food on the couch, sitting criss cross on the floor in front of me. I can see in his eyes that he's trying to figure out a way to tell me as little as possible. His lips are pulled into a hard frown, the corners held down by invisible string. I reach out and curl my fingers around his wrist. I can't shake the need to feel his skin against mine.

"I'm not gonna run away if I hear something scary Cook. I just want answers I guess. I want to prove to you that I'm not the person who made you this way. I know it was fucked that I didn't talk to you for months but you really upset me. I thought it was for the best…"

"Her name was Effy. We fucked in the nurses room the very first day I met her. She gave me this list of shit to do around the school. I did it all because I thought it would make her love me. I was in high school I did a lot of stupid shit."

"She didn't love you?"

"No. She loved my best mate Freddie. They were both fucked in the head so I guess it worked out. She fucked up our friendship. She's the reason he's dead."

I swallow hard. Cooks words come up in sort bursts. He's holding back tears. Reaching forward I rub the top of my fingers against his cheek. He turns and kisses my knuckles.

"Can I ask how he died? Freddie I mean. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"You can ask anything babes."

"Can I kiss you?"

Before he can respond my lips press to his. My fingers run through his hair. Cook's plate falls off the couch cushion and hits the floor as I move forward. Cook pulls me towards him, his hand on the back of my neck. I feel his tongue brush my bottom lip and I flick mine against his. Cook's hand slides down my back and grazes over my breast. A shiver runs through my body. As soft lips move to my earlobe I snap back to reality.

"Cook, Cook, stop."

He pulls away, concerned eyes searching my face. His lips are puffy, heart beating quickly under my hand, which is placed on his chest. Cook swallows hard before answering, "What's wrong babes?"

I brush my thumb over Cook's lips. They're soft and I like the way he catches my thumb between them and kisses it. I lay my head on his shoulder as tears spill down my cheeks. "You're a good person James."

I'm lifted off the floor and carried from the living room and down the hall. Cook deposits me in his bed before tugging off his pants and crawling under the covers. He opens his arms and I scoot closer. "You wanna tell me why you stopped things back in the living room?"

"I got scared," I admit, looking everywhere but at Cook. "Sex kind of scares me."

"You thought we were gonna have sex?"

"That's what that kind of kissing leads to," I answer back; a little hurt by his question. It isn't that I want to have sex with Cook, at least not right now, but I guess I never considered the fact that he might not want to have sex with me.

"You're silly Annabelle. We don't have to have sex if you don't want to and you don't have to tell me why it scares you, at least not yet. But, I do like you. When you left and wouldn't take my calls I thought it was Effy all over again. I sat in bed for days straight trying to figure out how I could fix things…what I could do to take back what I had said. If you don't want to kiss me ever again that's fine. Just stay with me Annabelle, just like this, forever. Please?"

I nod leaning in and placing my lips over Cook's for a second. "Maybe lets just kiss like that for a while?"

Cook hugs me closer to him, his bare skin warm against mine. "That sounds perfect."


End file.
